


Whatever It Is 1/1

by hnsnrachel



Category: Grey's Anatomy, Politician RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-24
Updated: 2009-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hnsnrachel/pseuds/hnsnrachel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between campaign stops, Hillary and Erica have been having a little fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever It Is 1/1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in some non-specific time period during the Democratic primaries, before Erica joins SGH.

Whatever It Is 1/1

It's no surprise that having the most powerful woman in America on her knees is a rush. It's a power so great, a God-like sensation that rivals the thrill of mending a heart, of making something broken whole again, that washes away the stresses of the day. You think it's the same for her too, but you aren't exactly the kind of women who sit around for hours talking about your emotions. You can both do it, but neither of you enjoy it, so why bother? The few hours you manage to steal with her between campaign stops are better used for other things, like her tongue thrumming against your clit, not sharp or cutting or anything else that people think, just the perfect pressure, the perfect swirl, driving you higher and higher, cresting the peak, falling in a crescendo of pleasure, crashing at her feet as you call her name, call to God, curse and moan.

Later, both sated, you're prone on the $3000 a night hotel bed, pondering how much longer you can stay. Seattle Grace is expecting you, and, much as a part of you would like to continue accompanying Hillary on her campaign, your hands are itching to get hold of a scalpel. The break has been fun, and illuminating in so many ways, but neither of you expects any more than this. You're both professional, independent, busy women with neither the time nor inclination to get emotional about - admittedly fantastic - sex.

"So, how's Bill?"

"He's fine. Seeing some woman in Arizona, I think."

"You know, I dated a chick called Arizona once."

"Hmm."

"Yeah. Too perky and 'let's cuddle after sex' for me. Plus, I looked at her one day and thought 'Fuck, I'm dating myself.'"

"Now that's interesting." A finger trails up between your breasts as she drags the words out, letting you know - once again - that there's really only one reason either of you have stuck around this long. Or, rather, there's only one reason you've trailed along with her through God only knows how many states these last couple of months.

"I need to get to Seattle soon."

"You sure I can't convince you to stay a little longer?"

"No. I need to get back into surgery and you have a Presidency to win. Those things don't go well together."

"It's a shame."

"It is what it is though. No good crying about it."

Her finger traces the outline of your areola, and you feel your nipple tighten, reacting to her touch the way it has every time she's touched you since that first meeting backstage in California, more than three months ago. 

"We should make the most of whatever time we have left then, shouldn't we, Dr. Hahn?"  

She shifts her body above you, the warm weight of her pressing down on you, breasts flush against your own. With a soft moan, you pull her into a deep kiss, feeling her hands map your sides, tracing higher as she slides a leg between yours, pressing up against the slick heat she inspires. This you're good at, both of you. It shocked you, how much you wanted her that first time, the desire that took over your body in flaming waves when her intense stare met your own.

The reaction she draws from your body hasn't changed.

As a surprisingly strong thigh creates enough friction to push you higher, but not enough to bring relief, you buck against her, a low moan rushing from your throat as she cups both breasts. Her weight rests on her elbows as she runs agile thumbs across achingly hard nipples. Hillary's tongue plunders your mouth, the kiss rough and full of sexuality - almost possessive - your head clouding with the desire that floods your system. You push up against her, your hips sliding easily against the arousal that coats her thigh, her hum of encouragement inspiring your hips to angle, your clit rubbing against her with each thrust, sparks of anticipation roaring under your skin. Tearing your lips from hers with a gasp, you breathe deeply, struggling for air as you toss your head back, pressing it further into the pillows. 

A low chuckle reaches your ears, and you groan in response, knowing the look in those deep blue eyes is victorious. You gave her dominion over your body that very first evening, even while you fought that realization with every fiber of your being. You knew it, by the end of that night, and she knew it too. It doesn't matter that you resisted the acceptance of that simple fact for weeks. You were always going to vote Clinton, but now it's undeniable. You'll walk into that booth, see her name, and remember the way she feels against you, the easy charisma that drew you in before you'd even noticed it, the hunger in her kiss.

Warm, supple lips suck against your throat, teeth grazing across your pulse point, and your hips pitch against her, the gentle rolling increasing in intensity. You're losing all control of yourself, coherent thought a distant memory, and she knows it. Sometimes, it's unbelievable how well she plays your body, how strongly you respond. The fire that burns in your stomach is white hot as Hillary moves down the bed. You instantly miss the pressure against your core, and you try to chase her hips down the bed with your own. Her hands rest on your waist, pinning you in place as warm lips wrap around the taut tip of your breast and you writhe into the contact. "Fuck."

"Patience, Erica." Teeth bite lightly on the bud between them as the older woman lifts one of her steady hands from your hips to massage the other breast. You're sure that the moans and whimpers issuing from your mouth are constant now, a desperate plea for release. You'll definitely miss this. Forcing your muscles to cooperate, you tangle your fingers in ash blonde, tugging her up to meet you in a fiery kiss.   
The last of your rational thoughts, your final desperate words are a hiss as you whisper, "Senator Clinton... fuck me."

Fingers trail across your inner thigh and you let your legs drop further open, giving her the access you know she craves. She's still cool, calm and collected, but there's a glint in her eyes that tells you how much she's enjoying having you at her mercy. Long fingers tease your swollen lips and you push up against her, begging her without words to fill you. That's all she was waiting for, your silent acknowledgement that, even as she's doing your bidding, she's still in charge. A part of you rebels at the sentiment, but it's drowned out as two of those fingers slide inside of you. Every thrust of her hand is easily met by your undulating body, her mouth teasing every patch of skin she can reach as she creates a syncopated rhythm in easy cadence with the rise and fall of your hips. You gasp and moan and she lets her thumb roll across your clit in time with her thrusting. You don't know if it feels like forever or no time at all before the fire is rushing through your veins, your stomach tightening, back arching as she curls her fingers inside of you and you fly from the ledge, your orgasm exploding through your body, shattering you into a million tiny pieces.

By the time you can force your eyes open, Hillary has slid back up the bed, her eyes fixed on your face as an amused grin just barely curls her lips. She's watching you, intense focus. She's not touching you, but you still feel her everywhere before you pull her down against you, her lips sliding against yours, a deep moan issuing from somewhere deep in her chest as your tongues meet again, thrusting and parrying against each other. Sliding a hand down to her hip, you encourage her to straddle you, sliding your hand against the hot arousal between her thighs.

Her mouth falls open as you slide inside of her, your whimper at the velvet that engulfs your hand reflected back in a moan that tumbles from her throat. Her hips rock against you as she rides your hand, your thumb teasing the small bundle of nerves with each thrust. Your other hand rolls against a tight nipple, the pebbled skin sliding easily beneath your fingers.

Watching her, you feel more powerful than you ever have before, and for the first time, maybe, you truly understand what they mean when they say that power corrupts. As you watch her breasts bouncing, her eyes closed as her face twists in pleasure, you almost think that you don't need surgery. This is all the rush you'll ever need. Forcing the thought away, you curl your fingers inside of her, groaning along with her as you feel the contractions of her pussy around your fingers as her body goes rigid and wetness soaks your palm.

You feel her muscles weaken and you slide your hand from between your bodies, ignoring her whimper as you guide her down to the bed beside you. Staring up at the ceiling while she recovers, you turn to her when you hear the chuckle that emanates from her lips.

"What?"

"Now_ that_ was mission accomplished."

Smirking at her, you can't help but drop another kiss on her lips before pushing yourself off the bed. Her eyes follow you as you gather your clothes from the floor. Fully dressed you turn back to her, and, if you didn't know better, you'd swear that disappointment clouds her gaze. As you stride to the door, you hear your name, almost a whisper.

Twisting your head to look behind you, you reply, "What?"

"Seattle, yes?"

One last smile. "Look me up next time you're in town."


End file.
